


Temptation

by LouRandom



Series: fixation, compulsion, temptation [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by Twitter, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouRandom/pseuds/LouRandom
Summary: It’s almost spring by the time Connor finally admits his little fixation is getting out of bounds.His hand will linger too long whenever he touches any part of Hank’s body with an otherwise friendly gesture. His eyes will be roaming over Hank’s body any chance he gets and he’ll get called out for it more than once during the day, especially if they’re at work. Connor will smile his innocent smile and widen his eyes in surprise, pretending not to know what’s going on, and Hank, in turn, will grudgingly pretend to believe him. And Connor—Connor will pretend that him jerking off to certain tantalizing images of him and the Lieutenant every single night is not much of a problem, not at all.That is, until the day Hank decides to take up boxing, and Connor’s self-control takes the last step and leaps out the window.





	Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> i deviated from what i said would be the plot of this fic and besides my horny, i partly blame [Synekdokee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee)'s Twitter [thread](https://twitter.com/SynTurtle/status/1079469129839583233) for this, which wouldn't leave me the fuck alone and inspired the pseudo-plot here x) as always, thanks to the wonderful, amazing, incredible [Kate](https://twitter.com/NekoQs) for dealing with my lil obsessions and always encouraging me :3
> 
> enjoy!

It’s almost spring by the time Connor finally admits his little fixation is getting out of bounds.

His hand will linger too long whenever he touches any part of Hank’s body with an otherwise friendly gesture. His eyes will be roaming over Hank’s body any chance he gets and he’ll get called out for it more than once during the day, especially if they’re at work. Connor will smile his innocent smile and widen his eyes in surprise, pretending not to know what’s going on, and Hank, in turn, will grudgingly pretend to believe him. And Connor—Connor will pretend that him jerking off to certain tantalizing images of him and the Lieutenant every single night is not much of a problem, not at all.

That is, until the day Hank decides to take up boxing, and Connor’s self-control takes the last step and leaps out the window.

Connor questions him about it while Hank installs a punching back in the garage, surprised at this particular choice of Hank’s as a means of getting back into shape.

“I used to do boxing back in the day,” Hank explains with a shrug, amused at Connor observing him with an expression of curiosity and mild bewilderment. “Can let off a lot of steam with this and it’s great for building muscle mass. Or rebuilding, in this case,” Hank says with chuckle.

Connor acknowledges the reply, though still failing to see a genuine appeal in the sport, and doesn’t think of it much until the fateful day he goes out to the garage to brink Hank a spare bottle of water and—promptly stops in his tracks at the door, processors stuttering and making his breath hitch.

Hank is working out in old sweatpants and a T-shirt, its back and front drenched in sweat, clinging tightly to his skin. The muscles in Hank’s arm bunch with every hard, fast and methodic punch he makes. His face is set hard with concentration and he doesn’t notice Connor standing there, mouth slightly agape, the skin on the hand holding the water bottle retracting a little due to the harshness of his grip.

He instantly imagines— _pre-constructs_ , as he is wont to of late—Hank touching him in this state, on an adrenaline high, large hands hot and rough on Connor’s body. Connor pictures Hank pinning him with his weight against the wall, muscles not too crudely defined after just a few workouts but still tangible through his sweat-soaked skin. He can almost _feel_ strong arms wrapping around him, Hank kissing him, lips traveling down to his neck as he divests Connor of his clothes, lifts him up so Connor can wrap his legs around Hank’s firm waist, and fucks into him, setting a merciless pace, cock moving through the slick lubricant in Connor’s asshole, because of course the image of Hank like this spikes each and every one of his arousal protocols—

Still stuck motionless at the door, Connor almost lets out a moan before he forcibly composes himself. Takes a deep breath. With the way his systems are working overdrive, it’s infinitely tempting to just approach Hank and beg him to take him then and there.

Instead, Connor overpowers the urge, sets the bottle on a nearby table and bolts back into the house. His rock hard erection hinders his movements somewhat until he falls on the bed and, throwing away his pants and boxers, _finally_ wraps a hand around his cock.

His other hand fins his asshole and he pushes in two, three fingers, fucking himself roughly, craving for it to be _Hank’s_ cock stretching him, _Hank’s_ fingers stroking him to completion, _Hank’s_ crushing weight above him as he—

His orgasm is devastating, wave after wave rippling through Connor as come coats his fingers, the sheets, spurting on the floor, and all the while he lies there, spent and almost completely satisfied, if not for the absence of the forbidden object of his desires.

It’s a shock for him to realize, minutes later, that he ended up not on the living room couch, as he’d initially intended, but was lying instead in Hank’s bed, now suddenly hyperconscious of the mess he made. He scrambles to put himself together, cleans up the space and rushes out of the bedroom like it’s on fire, just in time to greet Hank from his training session and, yet again, pretend like everything is totally, perfectly fine.

*

Hank finds it impossible to keep his cool near Connor in the coming days after the first time he’d caught him jerking off, and it only gets more difficult as Connor gets more and more careless with his displays of interest—and sheer desire. At times his stares are so intense that it makes Hank physically hotter to find himself to be the object of Connor’s observation. He does his best to turn the situations into jokes, but it only works to make Connor’s behavior and body language even more compelling as he tries—and fails—to play innocent.

This leaves Hank increasingly frustrated as he tries (and often fails) to distract himself every which way. Because really, what else is there left to do when a hot twink very obviously wants you but your annoying guilt-tripping conscience won’t let you make the first move?

Hank decides, resolutely, that it’s high time to get back into boxing, something that’s always done wonders to draw his thoughts away from day-to-day problems and let him concentrate on nothing but beating the shit out of a punching bag at any given moment.

And it works wonders.

A month passes and Hank finds himself calmer, more focused and collected, his muscles bigger and stronger than they’d been in years. It makes him feel _good_ about himself, even as he notices Connor’s behavior being off more often now and he always declines Hank’s proposition to be his sparring partner. Hank is half-hoping, half-disappointed that it’s a sign of Connor realizing that there’s more, better, healthier options than the middle-aged alcoholic (if recovering) he’s stuck with at the moment. He’s proven wrong, though, when one evening, Connor shows up at Hank’s training session carrying a water bottle and just… freezes.

Hank stops assaulting the punching bag long enough to give Connor a onceover and decide something is way more seriously wrong with him this time.

“Connor?” Hank says, approaching him and taking off his gloves. He puts a tentative hand on Connor’s shoulder and shakes him a little. “You okay? Hey, look at me. What’s wrong, your systems rebooting or something?”

Connor weakly shakes his head, mouth slightly open as his eyes focus on the hand touching him, which Hank quickly removes.

“No, I just…” Connor blushes. “I just didn’t expect you, um. Not wearing. Uh. Shirt.”

“Oh,” Hank says, stupidly, though to him, it was pretty much obvious to exercise with his short of on the abnormally hot spring day. The question is… “That bother you or something?”

“No,” Connor looks at Hank with that ravenous gaze of his and Hank corrects him in his mind, _Yes, yes it does._ “I just… Never mind.”

And then he just stands there, looking at Hank as if he’s expecting a heartfelt soliloquy from him. Hank holds his ground, letting Connor decide on where they’re going next. He’s fueled by the adrenaline still coursing through him, breaths harsh and sweat dripping down his chest and back as he meets Connor’s eyes with his own, cold blue against warm brown, fighting a barely visible battle.

“Can I touch you?” Connor says.

 “ _What?_ ”

Connor smiles, the barely noticeable increase of his technically unnecessary breaths betraying his nervousness.

“No sexual subtext intended,” he clarifies, already raising his hand to Hank’s shoulder before stopping it, letting it hover over Hank’s skin in a silent question.

Hank nods slowly, needing to take a deeper breath to calm himself down because _what the actual fuck_ —Connor’s hands, soft and feather-light and a bit colder than normal, are _on him,_ goddammit _,_ _touching_ Hank, running over the planes of shoulders and gliding down to his arms, which are noticeably far more toned than they were just a few weeks ago. Connor’s tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes focus intently on Hank’s chest, and the _closeness_ , the _feel_ of Connor’s fingers and the intense gaze of his darkened eyes are suddenly too much of a temptation for Hank to resist.

The rational part of his mind berates him for this, making a weak argument about taking advantage of a barely deviated android. His less logically driven, emotional part of his brain simply says _fuck it_ , and he draws Connor in by the nape of his neck into a raw, open-mouthed kiss.

Connor’s lips are soft against Hank, much softer than he’d expected, and taste of nothing in particular, except maybe that barely noticeable, unassuming sweetness Hank had come to associate with Connor’s scent. Connor’s lips move expertly over Hank’s, sensual, languid motions making him dizzy with want. Hank deepens the kiss, exploring Connor’s mouth with his tongue, and this—this draws a low moan from Connor as he practically melts against Hank, pressing his body against him, and the sudden, insistent movement of his hips against Hank’s groin drive him absolutely insane.

Hank draws away to breathe, eyes momentarily locking with Connor’s before he moves to his neck, kissing and licking and biting the soft skin there, content to see and feel Connor falling apart in his arms. Before long, they’re kissing again, and Hank almost can’t believe this is happening in reality, this scene having been featured in a dozen of his wet dreams.

“You’re good at this,” Hank observes, pulling away again and crowding Connor against the wall, enraptured by the vivid image of Connor’s lips red and puffy and begging to be kissed again. “How are you good at this?”

“I’ve been pre-constructing this exact scenario for a few months now,” Connor says without a hint of shame, little gasps and moans falling from his lips as Hank pins him against the wall with his body and resuming his worship of Connor’s neck and collarbone. “Among— _oh_ —other things.”

“What other things?”

“You…” Connor starts, but the rest of his words are drowned in a deep groan as Hank begins to unbutton his shirt, lips instantly glossing over every patch of newly revealed skin.

“Go on, Connor,” Hank says, cock hard and gaze even more so as he lifts his eyes to look at Connor expectantly. “I wanna hear—”

“You inside of me,” Connor says in a rush of breath, “fucking me, you…” Connor lets out a sharp gasp as Hank bites down on his neck. “You’re _never_ gentle and—”

“And?”

“It’s so good, Hank, always _so good_ , and I want to feel you, Hank—Hank _please!_ ”

Connor lets out a whimper as Hank kneels on the ground, in part because Connor’s little confession served to, quite literally, make him weak in the knees. Connor is picture perfect above him as Hank unzips his pants: his shirt is unbuttoned, rumbled and hanging loosely around Connor’s slim form, a blue blush spreading down it, the color deeper at the places Hank has managed to mark with his teeth. Now completely naked as he steps out of his pants, Connor is a marvel before Hank’s eyes. His cock is fully hard and already leaking precome, not obnoxiously big, smooth and absolutely perfect, and Hank doesn’t wait a moment before putting it in his mouth, licking and sucking at the tip before letting it go deeper into his mouth until it’s all the way in.

He hums contentedly around the length and Connor groans, hips bucking involuntarily so that Hank almost gags, pulling his head back to regain his breath.

“You liking this, Connor?” Hank asks, a small grin on his face.

“Yes,” Connor answers, close to totally wrecked. “Sorry, I…”

“’S fine, Connor,” Hank assures him, finding that he likes immensely how beautifully the name rolls of his tongue, before going down on Connor again.

It’s a surreal experience, to say the least, _him_ giving Connor a fucking _blowjob_. But Hank banishes all distracting thoughts to the depths of his subconscious, focusing wholly on the task at hand. He’s pretty good, has always been, expertly finding his partners’ preferred rhythm, what they liked and didn’t like, attentive to the reactions he got.

And Connor… well, Connor reacts to _everything_ with an almost frightening passion, his responsiveness making something hot and primal rush all over Hank’s body.  Hank lets him fuck his mouth with fast, shallow thrusts, relishing each and every desperate sound he manages to elicit from him. He slows down the pace then and takes Connor deep into his throat, swallowing around his cock, then drags his lips back to suck on the head, which has Connor begging him for _more_ and _faster_ as his hands grip the table behind him so hard his chassis starts to show from the pressure. It’s not long at all before Connor is trying to warn Hank of his impending orgasm, putting a shaky hand on his shoulder, quiet whispers of, “Hank, I’m going to, I—” but Hank ignores him in favor of taking in his full length again to feel Connor spill deep down his throat, the come tasting not-too-different from that of a human’s.

“ _Holy shit._ ” Connor’s body completely slack in his post-orgasm haze as he leans his back on the table behind him.

“Fucked out, huh?” Hank asks, standing up, pointedly ignoring the very obviously hard problem between his legs.

“No,” Connor answers, somehow managing a coy smile despite his state, “ _you_ have to get me there.” With that, Connor captures Hank’s lips in yet another messy kiss. “Please,” he says, _begs_ , “please fuck me, Hank, I’m ready, please—”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank breathes, pleasure overwhelming him as Connor squirms against him, brushing his cock, which hasn’t flagged even a little, over Hank’s sweats, feeling and teasing the hardness there. “Bedroom, come on.”

“No, Hank,” Connor almost whines. “We don’t need to.”

With this, he lifts himself onto the table, raising and spreading his legs, giving Hank a perfect view of his asshole, which was— _goddamn fucking leaking_ with what Hank guesses to be some special android lube, and fuck if it doesn’t make his dick impossibly harder as he stared at Connor’s quivering hole. He chances to run a finger over it, a jolt of pleasure running through him as Connor writhes and bucks his hips at the touch, another sweet little noise escaping his lips.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece, Connor,” Hank rasps, one hand playing with Connor’s entrance, the other moving up his stomach to his chest to play with his nipples.

“Don’t… tease me…” Connor manages, and another time, Hank would have chuckled and gone on to do just the opposite; now, though, his own neglected cock demanding attention, he’s not keen on going slow.

“Sure you’ll be fine without me stretching you?” Hank asks, just in case, as he hastily removes his sweatpants.

“Yes, _yes_ , fuck _—please_!” Connor begs, again, beautifully, tears welling in his eyes as he grips Hank’s forearms in an attempt to draw him closer.

“Easy, Connor,” Hank drawls, removing Connor’s hands and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. Hank moves him a bit further up the table to position himself comfortably and starts to push into Connor, agonizingly slowly, still worried about hurting him accidentally. Hank moans himself as his cock is engulfed by the tight heat, Connor’s asshole stretching obscenely around his admittedly larger-than-average girth as Connor pants, and groans, and _screams_ as Hank bottoms out.

“Fuck,” they say, echoing each other and Hank lets out a laugh, pressing a soft kiss to Connor’s LED, flashing red-red-red. “You okay?” Hank asks.

Connor only nods, squirming beneath him, pinned by his weight and looking downright exquisite. Hank pulls out almost fully, then slides right back in, mesmerized by the way Connor’s mouth parts as he moans, the way his teeth bite his bottom lip and his eyes screw shut with pleasure. He tries to go slow, honestly does, but Connor doesn’t seem to want to let him, clenching around Hank’s cock and begging for him to move faster and harder. Hank complies, and whatever incoherencies Connor was trying to voice mesh into a series of high-pitched, drawn-out moans as his body jostles with each of Hank’s hard thrusts. Connor seems heady with it, just as lost in the pleasure as Hank is. Their lips connect in intermittent kisses in between Hank moving to explore Connor’s neck further, peppering it with quick hickeys. He gives a particularly hard thrust and Connor screams, legs wrapping tighter over Hank’s waist and drawing him in ever deeper, a constant mantra of, “I’m close, I’m so _close_.”

Hank then wraps his left hand around Connor’s cock, starting to jerk him off to match his own pace, and it takes all of a few seconds for Connor to come in long spurts over Hank’s hand, over his belly and his chest. Hank follows him over the edge with a deep groan, coming deep inside Connor and fucking him with an unwavering rhythm until the last of the aftershocks let go of his body.

They stay there, Connor half lying on the table with his eyes shut, legs dangling off it as Hank pulls out, letting the come leak down Connor’s thighs. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Well,” Hank says, leaning against the wall for support, “if I’d known me boxing would affect you this way…” He grinned. “I would have started a lot sooner.”

“Uh-huh,” Connor mutters.

“You okay there?” Hank asks, worry and insecurity rekindling in his chest. “You liked it?”

“Uh- _huh_.” Connor slowly opens his eyes, focusing his gaze on Hank, his expression is that dangerous mix of desire and curiosity. He stands on his feet, slowly, body trembling, and comes to Hank, pressing a light kiss to his lips, hands settling on his hips. “I loved it,” he said, voice reverent. “And now—could you please fuck me from behind this time?”

All hints of worry and self-doubt evaporate as Hank realizes in this moment that it’s going to be a long fucking night. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most porn i've written EVER and i feel so out of my league lol x) so thank you so much for reading and I'd appreciate any comments/criticism!
> 
> next fic is titled Addiction and I think y'all can guess what's gonna be happening there as in no headcanon of mine can the bois ever get enough for each other and are in a permanent, incurable state of horny, I said what I said
> 
> find me on  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lou_Random)  
> [tumblr](https://lou-random.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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